


By Flash And Thunder-Fire

by quirkysubject



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Angst, Competition, Crack, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, First Meetings, M/M, Misunderstandings, New York City, Reality TV, Screenplay/Script Format, Sexism, Social Anxiety, Tattoos, and they were ROOMMATES, fem!brian, genderbent character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25895998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: Four up-and-coming British tattoo artists enter into the shark tank of an American tattooing competition. On the line: their reputations, their hearts, and the hundred thousand dollars each of them needs to make their dream come true.Or: Froger Tattooing AU
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 35





	1. Fundamentals

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I've written Ink Master AU. No, I'm not taking constructive criticism at this time.
> 
> Basically, this story was writing itself in my brain even as I was trying to work on other things (things anyone besides me might actually be interested in). It was kind of inspired by Tyler and Marissa in Season 06.
> 
> The idea is that each chapter follows one episode. The format is mix of (really loosely done) screenplay format and normal story format.
>
>> Text in blockquotes like this indicates snippets from interviews that we cut to occasionally.
> 
> You don't have to know the show to understand the story. In short: It's a tattooing competition. All artists live together in a loft in New York and have to face off in tattooing and other artistic challenges. Every episode, a panel of judges eliminates one artist based on their work.
> 
> One quirk of the show is that the people who are getting the tattoos as referred to "(human) canvasses" throughout. I'm not a big fan of that, but I kept it in because it's such a typical feature of the show's tone.
> 
> Tags and ratings may change as we progress.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fundamentals are the very basics of tattooing: clean lines, solid colour, a smooth translation of the design from paper to skin._

VOICE OVER: “On this Season of Ink Master:”

Rock music plays, bright colours flash.

VO: “Sixteen artists from four different countries are battling it out.”

Images of faces, names, smoking skulls, and tattoo machines in action flash over the screen, too fast to take in properly.

VO: “In the most intense season yet...”

Snippets of arguments, triumphant laughter, impassioned pleas.

VO: “...they’ll face off in extreme challenges, designed to test their skills to the limit.”

An explosion, bleeped out curses, faces cotorted in pain.

VO: “Until only one prevails to win a hundred thousand dollars…”

With a last screech of the guitars, the title card comes into view in huge, graffiti-style letters.

VO “...and the title of Ink Master.”

# Ink Master: Nation Battle

As the music fades, we cut to a huge, industrial-style room - brick walls broken up with indirect fluorescent lighting, dark muted colours, a high vaulted ceiling and huge leather sofas clustered together. Three men are standing in the middle of the room. The camera zooms in on DAVE NAVARRO, a slim but sinewy man around fifty, clad all in slick black from his Doc Martens to his designer glasses.

The camera pans round and with a swooshing sound effect, the doors fly open and group of sixteen men and women marches in. They’re mostly in their late twenties and thirties, and every single one is dressed for effect: leather skirts and high-heels, colourful mohawks, braided beards, ripped jeans, pin-striped trousers and braces, piercings of all styles and sizes, and of course, tattoos everywhere.

DAVE: “Welcome artists! You have a tough road ahead of you. This season, we have invited the most talented tattoo artists from the US, Canada, Australia and the UK to find out who is the best. You all have travelled here to New York City to compete for a hundred thousand dollars, a feature in Inked Magazine, and the title of Ink Master.

Each week, you’ll be testing your skills against each other, and each week, one of you will pack your machines and close shop.” He gazes sternly at the group of artists. The camera cuts to three intimated faces, one after the other. “You will be judged by OLIVER Peck (a cowboy type with a ponytail, moustache and a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth. When the camera zooms in on him, he smirks and raises one hand in a devil’s horns gesture), CHRIS Núñez (fashionable buzz cut and dark beard, his surly expression never leaving his face as he nods curtly into the camera) and myself.

There will be no Flash Challenge today. Instead, you’ll get started on your first Elimination Tattoo right now.”

> In his interview, JARED, an excitable American with a bushy red beard enthusiastically conveys his reaction: “Whaaaaaaat? We’ve only just arrived and already we’re about to be eliminated? I’m freaking out right now. Give us a breather, man!”

DAVE: “You will work in teams of four”

A groan goes through the assembled crowd of tattooists.

> MISSTEE, a blonde woman with piercings in both cheeks and an Australian accent: “No way, mate. I might get eliminated because some arsehole doesn’t have his shit together? No, thanks.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares.

DAVE: “All artists from the same country will form a team.”

Quick cuts to artists eyeing each other suspiciously.

DAVE: “Today, we will be testing Fundamentals. You will design and tattoo a souvenir tattoo that represents the country your human canvas wants to have immortalised on their skin. Let’s meet your canvasses.”

A door at the other side of the room opens. Two men and two women walk in, facing the contestants. For the first time, the camera zooms in on a table on which four golden skulls are laid out.

DAVE, addressing the human canvasses: “One by one, please step forward and tell us about the tattoo you want to get today. Then pick a skull and read out the label at the bottom. This will be the team that tattoos you.”

A man without any visible tattoos steps forward. “I want something representing Canada and especially my wonderful home province British Columbia.” One or two cheers erupt from the crowd of artists - seems like there are some proud British Columbians among them. The man picks up a skull. “USA”, he reads out.

One by one the human canvasses come forward to get their teams assigned.

CANVAS 2: “I want a souvenier from the UK on my upper arm... Australia.”

CANVAS 3: “I want a beautiful tribute to my country, the USA... I got the United Kingdom.”

CANVAS 4: “I’ve been thinking about something from Down Under on my calf. Aaaand... Canada.”

DAVE: Artists! You have five hours to consult with your canvas, draw up a design and finish your tattoos. The style is up to you, but you must tag team each other - every artist must tattoo once, and only once. And your time. Starts. Now."

* * *

This is not what Freddie has signed up for. In fact, it is the very opposite. He thought that he would spend most of his time drawing up beautiful designs, and then it would be only him and his client, creating something magnificent that he could show to the world.

Instead, before they’ve even been shown where they’ll be staying for the coming weeks, his luggage had been taken away and he’d been thrown into a loud, confusing jumble of people, with camera men and production crew and - worst of all - other tattooists around. He’s only arrived in New York, the other day, spent the night in a mediocre hotel, not sleeping from jet lag and nerves, and had really been looking forward to discovering the fabled artists' loft. But now he’s standing here, supposed to form a ‘team’ with three people he doesn’t know at all, who clearly haven’t the least idea what they’re doing, and design something to somehow represent the entire grand nation of the US of A in all of five hours.

“...sort of like the Statue of Liberty wrestling a grizzly, you know what I mean? And you could make, like, her boobs a little bigger.”

Oh, and their client - or rather, their ‘canvas’ as they like to call it around here - is completely mental.

Brianna, the only girl on their ‘team’, blinks in confusion. She looks a bit like one of those ‘unique’ fashions models - angular features, wild hair, more striking than beautiful, really. “I really don’t think that’s…”

“Like this?” Deaky (odd kid with a fashion sense for suited to a stamp collector’s convention; also looks like he’s all of fifteen) is holding up a sketch pad. It’s no more than a few lines really, but it does look a bit like a crowned, statuesque woman strangling a bear. It’s ridiculous. Both the idea, and the fact that anyone should be able to produce a sketch that fast.

“Woah, sick!” The third member of their team (shoulder-length semi-undercut, metal in both ears, heavily tattooed on every visible surface, some tendrils even sneaking up the side of his neck, how naff) snatches up the sketchbook and holds it up close to his face, squinting at the drawing.

Brianna gapes at him. She looks downright offended and suddenly Freddie feels a certain affection for her. But then, anyone who’s six feet, consists of 90 per cent leg and still goes for clogs, high-waisted jeans and a crop top is due some admiration in Freddie’s book. “You can’t be serious, Rog.”

“It’s rad. And you specialise in animals and landmarks!” The way they're talking to each other makes it sound like they've already known each other before the competition. Oh God, please don't let him have to team up with a couple. This will only end in fighting and tears. 

“This,” Brianna slaps the sketch with the back of her hand, “looks nothing like an actual bear. Or the Statue of Liberty.”

“Four hours remaining!” Dave Navarro’s voice suddenly booms through the room. “Four more hours.”

“Shit!” Brianna flings herself into a chair and frantically begins to search her image reference database.

Good God, they have wasted a full hour arguing back and forth like that. They’ve been through every symbol, every landmark of the United States, from the Golden Gate Bridge to bald eagles to Harley-Davidsons, only for it to be vetoed by either Rog or Brianna or their canvas.

“Look, guys”, Deaky says. “Perhaps I can just get started on this,” he picks up his sketch pad, “and then you guys can fill in your bits later.”

“No!” Brianna looks up from her MacBook, hazel eyes glaring at Deaky, daring him to make a move.

Freddie becomes aware of movement by his side. One of those camera teams smelling drama. He glares at the operator - he’s really not keen on being associated with that shit show of a team - but the man is completely unimpressed.

Their client, meanwhile, happily nods along. “Yeah, why not? I think it looks awesome, man.”

Brianna gets up. “Over my dead body.” She whirls around and points at the client. “You do not let him put that on your skin, do you hear me?”

“But, Bri, at least he’s got something,” Rog tries to calm her down. “The other teams all started tattooing ages ago!”

“But we can’t just slap something on this guy’s body that’ll stay there forever, we have a responsibility and-”

“I agree with Deaky”, Freddie says. The others all blink at him for a second, apparently having forgotten for the moment that he even existed.

“Fantastic”, Brianna mutters and throws up her hands.

“If Deaky gets working on his stencil now-”

Deaky waves him off. “Nah, I’m gonna freehand this.”

Freddie is speechless for a moment. The retort is on his tongue, but he swallows it down. If Deaky wants to set himself up for elimination like that, it’s really not his problem. “Right, so while Deaky gets his part done, we can each work on our own designs and then fill them in one by one.”

Rog frowns as he thinks it through. “Like a collage type thing?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Brianna is shaking her head, hands buried in her hair. “This is… I can’t believe it. This is such an incredibly stupid idea.”

Deaky impatiently drums his fingers against his sketch pad. “We good then?”

“Yes, fine, whatever.” Brianna looks defeated for a moment before she perks up again. “No wait! You do the Statue. I take care of the bear.”

As Deaky gets working on the tattoo and Brianna furiously dives into her grizzly bear design, Freddie is left with their third team member. “What are you thinking of doing then?” he asks, just to have something to say.

“I thought about doing like a Roswell alien type thing”, Rog says. “That would be really cool. But that’s not really a symbol of America, is it?” One of his hands wanders into the stretched neckline of his shirt, rubbing his collarbone.

“I suppose not”, Freddie says. It’s not his most witty or helpful reply. But it’s been a busy day and it’s hard to concentrate on anything in this riled up atmosphere.

Rog’s attention is still on him. “And you?” He is kind of cute, Freddie supposes. In a chavvy sort of way. Why really isn't his type.

Freddie looks down at the sheet in front of him, the lines his hands have scribbled why they've been talking. It looks like… no, that won’t work. He squints at it again. Or perhaps... He picks up his drawing utensils. Now that he’s got an idea, he feels some of his confidence return to him. “Oh, I don’t know, darling,” he says and winks at Rog.

The surprised half-smile that appears on his lips makes him look almost as young as Deaky. Freddie sighs internally. Why is he being teamed up with literal children? Who like to draw aliens and think comic bears are rad and can’t sit still for even a minute? 

“You’ll see”, he says with a smirk and gets up to find a quieter corner of the room, where there’ll be fewer distractions.

He will blow the others out of the water.

### Tattoo Critique

The contestants are standing in groups of four in front of a seated panel of judges. Their expressions range from confident to defiant to downright terrified. Team UK is the last one to receive their critique.

DAVE: “Team UK. How did it go? What kind of strategy did you go with?”

ROG, smiling a little too brightly: “I think we, er, worked pretty well together.”

Cut to a scene from the tattooing session. Rog, bent over the client with a buzzing tattoo machine in hand, is yelling at a frazzled Brianna to just “*Bleep* off and let me tattoo already”. In the background Freddie can be seen pacing, muttering “This is a nightmare” under his breath, while Deaky has checked out completely and is playing his phone, bopping his head to the music he's listening to through his earbuds.

BRIANNA: “We decided to do something where we can really complement each other’s strengths.”

The other three nod, forced smiles on their faces.

A picture of the tattoo appears on the screen. There’s a lime green cartoon version of the Statue of Liberty in the centre. A bear’s head peeks out from behind her. To the left, there is a high-contrast black-and-white portrait of Holly Golightly, and to the right an Coca-Cola bottle cap.

OLIVER PECK: “This is a horrible tattoo. There’s no cohesive design, there’s no flow, the colours clash… This is the furthest thing from a team effort we’ve seen today. None of these elements interact in any way.”

CHRIS NUNEZ: “It also has a ton of technical problems. The lines are crooked, the bear-fur has no texture at all, the colour saturation is patchy, that lettering…” He shakes his head sadly.

Rog: “We ran out of time! I had all of thirty minutes to actually tattoo my part and-”

CHRIS with a killer glare: “The other teams managed.”

> FREDDIE: “Yes, well, the other teams don’t have to deal with Brianna May breathing down your neck and commenting on every single line you put on the skin!” He pointedly looks at the camera.

CHRIS: “Guys, you have to give us finished tattoos. If that is the best Team UK has to offer, you’ll find yourselves heading back to the other side of the Atlantic faster than you can say cream tea.”

After one last shot of team UK sulking, dramatic music swells. The camera pans once over the contestants, then zooms in on DAVE: “Artists! It is time to determine who had the best tattoo of the day. Let’s hear it from the judges.”

OLIVER: “Team US had some of the smoothest application of the field, but I feel like Team Canada really came together and pulled of a clean, legible design that looks like it could have been done by one and the same artist.”

CHRIS looking anything but enthusiastic: “My vote is vote Canada, too.”

DAVE: “The judges have decided. The best tattoo of the day…” - unnecessary dramatic pause - “Goes to Canada.”

> DORITO, a huge guy with glasses and tribal patterns on his right cheek, pumps his fist: “Yeah, man! We’re gonna wipe the floor with those guys.”

DAVE: “Congratulations, Team Canada. You are safe from elimination this week. The rest of you, however, are not. All of you have a very important decision to make.”

Dramatic music swells.

DAVE: “Each of you, as a team, must discuss and decide, which artist on your team was the weakest. The nominated artists will have one last chance to earn their spot. They must face off, tattooing head-to-head to determine who will continue in the competition.”

The camera zooms on ROG who’s looking skywards, shaking his head and muttering “*Bleep* me.”

DAVE: “You have ten minutes to make your decision. Choose wisely.”

* * *

“I am not going home for your cock-up.” For some reason, Brianna has decided that everything that went wrong today is somehow Freddie’s fault.

“Oh, so the fact that your grizzly looked like a ruffled cat is my fault, is it”, Freddie shoots back.

“You took so long to put in this under-complex, thematically completely off the mark portrait that I barely had time for the line-work, let alone proper shading!”

“No. You barely had time for your tattoo because you kept running back to the drawing table to fiddle with your design.”

Rog crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You did use up almost half the remaining time after Deaky was done, Freddie. No wonder I botched the colour on mine.”

Oh great, so Rog is against him too. “Darling, without me and Deaky, we wouldn’t have a tattoo at all!”

> ROG: “Oh yes. Not only did this *bleeping* diva mess up our tattoo with his weird-ass design and took ages putting in, he then talked to me like he’s the *bleeping* wise old grand master of tattooing or something. Like, I haven’t even heard of this dude! At this point, I’m so done with him."

“You’d all still be over there arguing about designs until you’re blue in the face”, Freddie continues.

“At least then that poor man wouldn’t have to wear a completely jacked tattoo for the rest of his life,” Brianna points out.

Freddie waves that away. “Ah, don’t worry about that. He loves it.” He does, that was the truly worrying part. But then, compared to the crap he’s already had on his body, theirs is still the nicest of the bunch.”

“It was objectively terrible!” Brianna rubs a hand over her face. “And it’s going to be shown on the telly. God, this is so embarrassing.”

“We really don’t have time for that right now”, Deaky says. “Right now, we have to determine who of us we’re going to send down.”

They all look at each other, daring the other to speak first.

Rog purses his lips and puts his hands in his jeans pockets. “My vote is for Freddie”, he says.

> FREDDIE: “Look, I don’t know what kind of _history_ Rog and Brianna have,” he raises one eyebrow at the camera. “But it’s clear they’re teaming up against me.”

“Have you even looked at your tattoo?", Freddie asks. "It’s a big blob of splotchy red with lettering so uneven it’s barely visible.”

“It’s twice the size of yours…”

“Oh dear, haven’t you heard? Not everything is about size.”

“...and I had half the time to put it in.”

Before Freddie can reply, he gets help from an unlikely source.

“It does look pretty beat, Rog”, Brianna says.

Rog whirls round to stare at her. “What?!”

Brianna shrugs. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

Freddie can hardly keep himself from grinning. It would be a bit of a shame to have the cute one gone so early, but then, he’s not here to make friends, with or without benefits. If both he and Brianna vote for Rog, and he can keep Deaky from joining forces with Rog, Freddie’s safe.

“I can’t believe you’re throwing me under the bus like that!”

“I’m not throwing you under the bus, Rog, don’t take it so personally.”

“Okay, fine. Two can play that game. Your grizzly fucking sucked. I’d take Freddie’s Holly any day.”

“Oh, don’t be so fucking ridiculous,” Brianna spits and throws back her hair.

At that moment, one of the Americans, a skater dude with a spiked mohawk, is walking past them, a can of Mountain Dew in hand. He sucks in his breath loudly and fans himself. “Ooh, sounds like it's the wrong time of the month, eh?” He winks at Rog and nudges Deaky in the ribs.

“Excuse me?” By the time Brianna has come to grips with what she’s heard, the guy has already rejoined his team.

This obviously doesn’t deter Rog. “What did he just… Oi, you!” he yells through the room.

It’s only when Freddie’s shoulder presses into Rog’s one side and Deaky’s on the other that he realises the three of them have all drawn close together, essentially forming a line in front of Brianna.

Who isn’t having any of it. She’s pushing at them to let her through. “I can’t fucking believe it”, she fumes. “That weaselly little shit is going to…”

“Alright, that’s it!” A voice booms over the intercom. “All teams back to the studio, it’s time to hear your decisions.”

Well, fuck.

As they take their places on the far side of the wall, separated from the Americans by the Australian team (the Canadians as the winners of the day are sitting on bar stools off to the side), Freddie realises he has no idea how this is going to play out. If they don’t have a decision, does that mean they’re all going to be up for elimination? Was that moment back there enough to strengthen Rog’s and Brianna’s alliance? And worst of all, he still has no idea what Deaky is thinking.

Tapping his foot nervously on the floor, he only half-listens as Dave Navarro earnestly explains to them what's going to happen next.

He really does not want to face off in a head-to-head tattoo. It’s not that he’s bad, of course he isn’t, but he isn’t the fastest and he doesn’t have a lot of experience. 

“Team US, you are up first”, Dave says. “CJ, who are you putting up for elimination?”

Freddie can just about hear Rog’s whispered “Cunt” behind him as CJ’s face appears on the screens. For once, he agrees with him.

“I’m nominating Kalisha. She just doesn’t have it.”

“Kalisha, who are you nominating?”

“CJ.”

“Jared?”

“My vote is also for CJ.”

“And Darrow?”

“Yup, CJ it is.”

CJ can be seen rolling his eyes in close-up. “Goddammit.”

Freddie allows himself a small grin. Either this guy managed to piss off his teammates royally, or he really sucks as a tattooist. Either way, good riddance.

After the Australians nominate an impossibly muscled guy who calls himself Dongaroo for some reason, Dave turns to them. Freddie heartbeat picks up. “Team UK, it’s your turn. Brianna, who are you putting up for elimination?”

There’s a moment of complete silence. Freddie mentally prepares himself to have his name called out. He can do this. Even if he does get elected, he can out-tattoo an idiot like CJ any day.

“I’m nominating myself.”

A gasp grows through the room. “What the hell”, Rog whispers.

“I’ll hand that guys arse to him”, Brianna mutters through gritted teeth.

“Rog”, Dave goes on. “Who are you putting up for elimination.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. When Freddie turns to look at him, he finds Brianna glaring at him with a murderous stare, like she’s daring him to thwart her plans. “Alright”, Rog says with a defeated shake of his head. “My vote is for Brianna, I guess.”

> DORITO, slapping his thigh: “Oh man, what the hell is going on with those Brits? They’re a *bleeping* mess, all of them.”

Freddie actually feels a bit guilty as he says Brianna’s name. He wants to see her down there, it’s not that, but not because some arsehole American baited her.

“Team Canada”, Dave intones. “You have until tomorrow to draw up a design that the three nominated artists must tattoo. The subject and style is up to you, but it must be possible to complete it within six hours.” He turns around to the other teams. “Now head up to the loft and get ready for tomorrow.”

* * *

Shared bedrooms.

Freddie throws himself onto his assigned bed - the one farthest from the door at least, which is a small blessing - and presses his hands to his temples, trying to ignore the insane ruckus that his roommates are making while unpacking their bags.

After the tattoo critique, they’d been led up to the loft they’d all be sharing by a production assistant who talked incessantly but actually told them very little. A veritable army of cameras had awaited them to capture their reactions to their quarters.

It’s nice enough, Freddie supposes. There are a couple of lounges, a billiard room, two kitchens, four bathrooms and a roof deck. The style is similar to that of the tattooing space downstairs - dark colours, leather couches, artwork on the wall. Too generic to be called stylish, but easy on the eye.

If Freddie is honest, even with the shared bedroom and the fact that half of his flatmates appear to have some sort of personality disorder, it’s a lot grander than his living situation back in England. But he feels that after this day, he’s entitled to a little self-pity.

In keeping with that whole Nation Battle theme, the artists from the same country have all got two rooms next to each other. In their case, Brianna got one for herself, while he has to share one with Deaky and Rog. The silver lining is that from what he has seen today, neither of them will stay for very long, so hopefully, he’ll get to have the spacious room for himself soon.

He had barely been given time to take it all in, when he was herded back down to an interview room, where he was grilled mercilessly by a producer to recount every detail of his day and to give his opinions on everything from the judges’ clothing style (no comment, just a sad shake of the head) to his so-called team-mates (“I really don’t see myself as part of a ‘team’, darling. A team isn’t going to win this competition, is it? No, I’m going to beat those three just like I’m going to beat every other competitor. And from what I’ve seen today, that won’t be much of a challenge.”)

And finally, to top it all off, they’d all been given a lengthy speech on the house rules, including a reminder that outside of the challenges, they are not allowed to leave the building without supervision. Now, that’s all in the contract which Freddie has signed, he’s known about it before he came here. But he hadn’t really believed they’d be this strict about this. He’s only been here for half a day and already he’s feeling claustrophobic.

“Freddie?” Rog is standing the foot of his bed. He’s put on a worn blue-grey knitted hoodie that looks incredibly soft. “Wanna come to the meet-and-greet dinner?” He nods at Deaky, who is already waiting by the door.

Freddie grimaces. He is hungry, but the last thing he needs right now is more people. He shakes his head. “No. I’ll have an early night.”

Rog shrugs as if to say ‘your loss’, but then Deaky speaks up. “They said there’ll be no cameras. Might be nice.”

“Early. Night.” Freddie repeats very clearly.

“Alright, mate.” Rog rolls his eyes and turns to Deaky, rubbing his hands. “Let’s get going then!”

The door falls shut behind them and finally, Freddie is alone.

### Head-to-Head Tattoo

Next Day, inside the Tattoo Studio. Three tattooing chairs are arranged in the middle of the huge room. The contestants are sitting on sofas that are arranged off to one side, except for Brianna, CJ and Dongaroo, who are standing in front of the judges.

> BRIANNA: "By this point, all I want is to take out CJ. I don’t care about the competition, I don’t care about the money, I just want to create a tattoo that will give him a run for his money."
> 
> Cut to CJ singing “Dirty Brianna” on his way to the tattoo studio.

DAVE: “Welcome to the Head-to-Head tattoo. The three of you who have been put up for elimination by your team will now face off directly. Team Canada, you had the best tattoo of the day, tell us about your design.”

DORITO: “We have designed a New School tattoo...”

> BRIANNA doesn’t say anything, but her expression says 'oh crap' very eloquently.

DORITO: “...of an astronaut in outer space.”

> A slow, sharkish smile spreads on BRIANNA’s face.

The camera zooms in on the design. It’s just a line drawing - the colours, shading, background, etcetera are up to the artists.

DAVE: “Looks awesome, thanks. Artists, let's meet your canvasses, and then you will have six hours to tattoo Team Canada’s design. Good luck.”

* * *

“Ah, fuck.” Rog balls up his fist and punches it against his thigh. “New School is not her speciality. And by not her speciality I mean she sucks at it.”

Freddie shrugs. “Can’t be that hard. The design’s already drawn up. Just pound it with the most absurd colours you can find, make sure everything looks flat and like it could be printed on a six-year-old’s lunch box, and hey presto. New School.”

On the other side of the team sofa they’ve been assigned, Deaky leans forward, so he can look around Rog and at Freddie. “Are you for real?” he asks.

He is wearing a mint green button-up shirt and a Scandinavian-patterned slip over. Freddie doesn’t know whether it’s supposed to be ironic or if the producers talked him into it because they wanted to set someone up with a target on his back. Whatever it is, it looks ridiculous. He raises his eyebrows at him. “Am _I_ for real”, he asks.

Deaky shakes his head and gets up. “Whatever, man,” he says and wanders off in the direction of the catering that has been provided in the next room.

Freddie can feel Rog side-eyeing him, and suddenly is a bit self-conscious. “What”, he asks, minutely adjusting his shirt, then sternly telling himself to stop fussing.

“Why do you have to be such a prat all the time?”

“Oh please,” Freddie tuts. He does his best to look as if it’s beneath him to answer, because he realises he actually has no idea what to say to that.

He’s not a prat and it’s not like he wants to look like one. He noticed there are some people around who play up the bitchiness when the cameras around, probably hoping an air for drama makes them an asset to the producers. But that’s not what he’s trying to do. This whole situation, with new surroundings and people and being forced into a team, is just setting him on edge a little. 

They sit in silence while the tattooing gets underway. Rog keeps shifting and moving around, tapping his foot on the floor and his fingers on his knees. Although it was late when he came back to their room last night, he doesn’t look tired at all. He’s wearing a loose, off-white, no-sleeve shirt that shows off his slim, heavily tattooed arms. The Japanese sleeve covering most of his right arm doesn’t look half-bad, but whoever did that ornamental chain going down over his hand can’t pull a clean line if their life depended on it.

When he looks back up it’s right into Rog’s eyes. He realises two things at once. One, he doesn’t know the name for the shade of blue of his eyes. And two, he has no idea how long he’s been staring at his arms. “Nice”, he says and when Rog’s eyebrows start to rise he belatedly adds, “Your sleeve, I mean” and gestures at it.

“Oh. Thanks.” The way his face brightens at the compliment, any trace of ruffled feathers washed away as if by a clear breeze, is remarkable. Rog holds out his arm, turning it this way and that so that Freddie can see the artwork in its entirety. “My ex did it.”

Freddie grimaces. “Ouch.”

“Ah, no. We’re good. But yeah, she really rocks anything Japanese. It’s one of my favourite styles, actually, but I never got the hang of it myself.”

She. Of course, that doesn’t have to mean that he _only_ … but it doesn’t matter anyway. All mere hypotheticals.

“It’s beautiful. I do some Japanese inspired artwork myself.”

“Got some Japanese tattoos as well?” Rog’s eyes are searching his body now, as if he's trying to see the ink through his clothes.

“No, not as such”, Freddie says. “Er, how was the meet-and-greet dinner?”

“The… oh. Yeah, it was nice, once everyone had a couple of glasses of wine in them and calmed down a little. Couple of really cool people here.”

“Not just prats then”, Freddie says, daring a small smile.

“Not just,” Rog agrees. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” Andrea, one of the production team’s wranglers has come in and is clapping her hands encouragingly.

The best way Freddie can describe her is that she’s like an overflowing bubble bath. It’s everything, from her rosy cheeks and ever-present smile to her chirpy voice and bubblegum-coloured clothes. Her whole body is a perfectly spherical collection of circles. Freddie always has the urge to draw some deep black rectangles and listen to Megadeth after he’s been around her.

“You may now enter the tattooing area”, she continues. “You are free to look and comment, but please make sure you don’t startle the artists or get in the way of the cameras, thank you!”

Rog gets up. “Shall we”, he asks with a look back at Freddie.

They shall.

### Tattoo Critique

All contestants are seated off to one side, except for BRIANNA, CJ and DONGAROO who are standing to face the judges.

DAVE: “The Canadian team challenged you to do a New School tattoo of an astronaut. Let’s see how it went. CJ, we start with you.”

CJ steps forward, a smirk on his face. He's sure he won’t get eliminated. His tattoo is shown on the big screen.

OLIVER: “What I like about this tattoo is how bright and colourful it is. It pops right off the skin. It’s obvious that you are familiar with the style. On the other hand, when you get a closer look, this is riddled with technical inaccuracies. The lines are wonky, there are two or three blowouts, the skin looks scraped raw in places…”

CJ: “The canvas had really bad, like, soggy skin.”

OLIVER: “Don’t blame the skin for your linework, buddy.”

DAVE: “Next up is Dongaroo.” He barely suppresses his smirk at the name.

CHRIS: “What I notice first about this tattoo is how muted it is. The colour scheme just doesn’t work and it’s tonally all the same, so there’s no depth. But your outline and your technical application are really strong.”

DONGAROO: “Thanks, mate.”

DAVE: “Brianna.”

Brianna steps forward. She is clad all in black and dark plum tones and her expression would make lesser men tremble.

OLIVER: “You did tattoo an astronaut in space, but the way you coloured it, and the way you added all those little details in the suit and the background just takes away from the New School feel.”

> DEAKY, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I _told_ her to stay away from the shader.”
> 
> ROG: “This is *bleep*. They’re dressing her down for putting in details and texture. They might as well have said,” (in a horrible American accent) “sorry lady, your tattoo is just too good!”

OLIVER: “You also changed the design in several places.”

BRIANNA: “There were so many inaccuracies in that drawing. I only fixed the worst ones.”

OLIVER: “This really wasn’t the time for you to fix any designs. This was the time to show us you can do whatever is put in front of you.”

BRIANNA scowls.

CHRIS: “Technically though, it’s pretty much flawless. There is depth and dimension, strong line work and colour saturation, a couple of different textures… it’s a really smooth tattoo.”

DAVE: “So the only question seems to be whether you really hit the challenge.”

CHRIS: “Looks like we have to decide between a very good tattoo that just isn’t in the assigned style, a superficially pleasing but technically mediocre tattoo that hits the challenge and a technically solid one that is just plain unappealing.”

> ROG: “If they’re sending her home for improving on the design, this competition is officially a joke.”

DAVE: “Judges, I need to hear your decisions.”

OLIVER: “Today, we’re testing fundamentals: creating a stencil from the drawing, placing it on the skin, putting in solid lines and colour. The fact that Brianna’s doesn’t follow the style precisely or that Dongaroo’s colour theory is a little off seems less fundamental to me than CJ’s application problems.”

CHRIS: “I agree. My vote is for CJ.”

DAVE: “The Judges have decided. CJ, you do not have what it takes to be Ink Master. Please pack your machines and close shop.”

Cheers in the Australian and UK camp.

> Kalisha: “I mean, he was a *bleep*. Good riddance, man. Team US will be stronger without you.”

* * *

The punch Rog lands on Freddie’s shoulder when CJ’s name is called out hurts more than he cares to admit, but then Deaky high-fives him right after and Brianna joins them, and they’re all laughing and talking over one another. Freddie is surprised how invested he has become in the outcome, how relieved he is that it’s not Brianna going home.

“You fucking killed it,” Rog crows and proceeds to punch Brianna just as he has Freddie. It seems to be his way of showing affection, and she takes it in her stride.

“Yeah, super smooth tattoo,” Deaky chimes in and Freddie nods his agreement. It hasn’t been half bad.

Brianna grins. The relief is visible on her face. “Thanks, guys.”

“So, drinks back to the loft?” Rog looks from Brianna to Deaky and then to Freddie.

Freddie's heart jumps at the casual inclusion. Of course, everything else would have been rude, but it doesn’t look forced.

Brianna nods. “God yes, I could use a whiskey. Or five.”

“They only have Jack Daniels”, Freddie cautions, earning himself a grin from Rog.

“Ah, we’ll live,” Deaky replies with a shrug.

As they make their way out of the studio, Andrea stops them. “Freddie, hun, we still have to do your interview.”

Oh right, he hasn’t yet given his daily recounting of events. They all get called to the interview room at different times of the day to recap. It’s a bit tedious, but - like everything else - it’s apparently something that has been laid down in the contract he signed. He’s a bit mystified as to the purpose of these things - surely viewers aren’t going to be interested in watching him recount the tattooing session that they just watched for themselves?

He gives a brief wave in the direction of his teammates. “Get the party started, darlings, I’ll join you later.”

“Well save a nice shot of Jack for you”, Rog shouts and the laughs when Freddie responds by scrunching up his nose.

“Alright Freddie,” Andrea chirps, “just follow me!”

* * *

When he jogs the stairs back up to the loft forty minutes later, there’s a spring in his step. Answering countless questions about the competition and the contestants - who Freddie barely knows - was draining, but it’s been the last obligation for today and a drink is waiting for him upstairs. They also have the next day off, which means he might indulge just a little bit. He and his teammates might not have started off on the right foot, but now, with the pressure of competition on hold and Brianna’s triumph to celebrate, this might be a good time for a fresh start.

The other teams seem to have had similar ideas, so the main lounge is cluttered with people, drinking and chatting amiably. It takes Freddie a while to locate Rog, Deaky and Brianna, who have commandeered two couches in quieter a corner of the room. The glasses in front of them look untouched. Perhaps they have waited for him? He’s not sure if it’s that thought or the prospect of a shot of liquor that puts an anticipatory warm glow in his belly.

As he comes closer, he notices their faces are far from celebratory. A dark shadow of apprehension settles on Freddie’s mood. Rog in particular looks furious.

“...to my face, you know. I hate this fake bullshit, pretending to be on your side one minute and then, as soon as you turn your-”

He’s cut off when Brianna kicks his shin and nods at Freddie. Rog falls silent.

“Er. Evening”, he says stupidly and wants to cut off his tongue the moment the word has slipped past his lips.

Rog’s mouth is forming a white line and instinctively, Freddie braces himself for the insults that follow this expression. What for he doesn’t know yet, but there is always something.

Brianna gets up and Freddie automatically takes a step back. But she doesn’t turn towards him. “Drinks at my room, chaps?” she asks and this time the question is directed pointedly not at Freddie.

“Yeah,” Rog says and gets up from the couch. “Yeah, that’s a fantastic idea!”

Deaky follows him. “Sounds good to me.”

Together, the brush past Freddie and march off on the direction on the bedrooms. Before they round the corner, Deaky hesitates and looks back at Freddie for a moment. But then he shakes his head and walks on, leaving Freddie standing alone in the lounge, abandoned like a superfluous piece of luggage.

One of the Australian girls that has been sitting quietly in an armchair looks up from her phone. “Gee, what’ve you done to them?”

Freddie does his best to make his face an impassive mask as he shrugs and shuffles towards the kitchen where, hopefully, he'll find that shot of whiskey. 

What he always does, it seems.

If only he had the faintest clue what that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is to give you some idea of the styles in which the guys tattooed: (Back)  
> 
> 
> Roger's outfit: (Back)  
> 
> 
> This is what the finished tattoo should have looked like: (Back)  
> 
> 
> The tattoos Freddie admires on Rog's arm are based on Roger's actual tattoos: 


	2. Proportion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proportion is the relationship of two or more elements in a composition and how they compare to one another with respect to size, color, quantity, degree, setting, etc.
> 
> \- Teresa Bernard, [Principles of Good Design](http://teresabernardart.com/principles-of-good-design-proportion/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who kudoed and commented! I'm amazed anyone is actually reading this little exercise in self-indulgence ;) 
> 
> I don't endorse any of the brands named in this fic. Shameless product placement is kind of a trademark of the show, so I wanted to include it.

### Flash Challenge

Roger blinks in the bright light streaming through the arched windows of the top-floor workshop they’d been taken to. It looks almost like a dancing studio with its hardwood floor and cream-coloured draperies. Against one wall, wheeled workstations with art supplies are lined up. Going by the chitter among the production assistants running back and forth, something excited is about to happen. Roger certainly hopes so. It’s too early in the morning for him, and he needs something to get his adrenaline up. 

Last night had been longer and richer in booze than was sensible. But Brianna needed those drinks after the realisation set in that she’d almost been sent home on the first day, and Deaky was wide awake due to lingering jetlag and Roger… well, the last thing Roger wanted was anything to do with Freddie, so he’d only gone back to their bedroom once Brianna was almost falling asleep in her chair. 

_I really don’t see myself as part of a ‘team’, darling._

No, he just pretends when it's suiting him, the git. Roger doesn't even want to think about him, especially not now when he has to focus on the challenge ahead, but the words kept circling and circling in his head. 

_I’m going to beat those three just like I’m going to beat every other competitor. And from what I’ve seen today, that won’t be much of a challenge._

And then he’d proceeded to slag them off, one by one, listing their flaws as artists and why he’s so much better than them right there on camera. 

It’s not that Roger went into this expecting to form some sort of deep friendship just because they’re all from the same country. They’re all competitors. And of course, in the end, he wants to be the one standing up on the stage and being announced the winner. And that means, beating all of them, Brianna and Deaky included. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be a dick about it. 

Well, if Freddie doesn’t want to be on his team, he doesn’t want to be on Freddie’s, easy as that. He cranes his neck to see where he's standing on the other side of the crowd. There, at the very back, next to that cute Canadian girl… Bea, that’s it. Black hair artfully tousled (and Roger knows it’s art, not nature, simply from the half a century he took in the bathroom this morning) and dressed all in white except for a dark jacket embroidered with golden flowers, he looks just like the art-school ponce he is. 

Alright, so the jacket is kind of rad. And yeah, the way those waves are framing his head does bring out his high cheekbones. It’s not that Roger’s _blind_ (not when he’s wearing his glasses, anyway). It’s just that… 

Ugh, he needs a coffee. Isn't there a catering station somewhere around?

Finally, after what feels like hours of standing around and being instructed by camera assistants and given a once-over by the make-up department, there’s an announcement that filming is about to begin. Dave and the judges, who had been going through notes with the producers, disappear behind the curtains for their grand entrance. 

Roger genuinely has no idea what’s going to happen now. They have been briefed very generally about what the day is going to look like, but he has no idea what sort of fuckery he’s going to have to contend with next. Going by the previous seasons he's watched, it might be anything from building sculptures out of sand to tattooing dead pigs. 

When the cameras are rolling, the judges come back in, led by Dave. He gives a little welcome speech, as if they hadn’t all been milling about in the same room for ages, and then announces what’s in store for them. “This week, we are testing proportion,” he announces. 

An excited murmur goes through the crowd of contestants. Roger feels his eyebrows rise in expectation. More often than not, proportion day is pin-up day, and they like to bring in live models for the occasion. 

“We begin with a Flash Challenge”, Dave continues. “The winner of the flash challenge will get a huge advantage in the following elimination tattoo: they will get to assign all the human canvasses!" 

Roger takes a deep breath. Being able to choose a client (and to assign difficult ones to competitors) _is_ a big advantage. If they want a style you're unfamiliar with, or have difficult skin, or impossible design ideas that can make the difference between winning and losing. 

"Today, you must bring a pin-up to life," Dave announces. 

Just as he thought! Roger grins at Brianna, but she’s already got that look of intense concentration on her face that means she won’t suffer any distraction from the task at hand. 

“Let’s meet your models.” Dave takes a step back, and a file of gorgeous women, naked except for a tiny flesh-coloured thong, walks in.

The suspense that had accumulated among the artists over the last minutes dissolves into hoots and excited laughter. “Not sure how to explain this to my girlfriend,” one titters while MissTee grumbles, “Where are the boys?” She's got a point, but it's not like Roger minds.

The models come to stand next to the work stations. It’s now that Roger realises each of them is carrying something - a fireman’s helmet, a lasso and cowboy hat, a pitchfork - and he gets an inkling of what the challenge is going to be about. 

Dave continues with his speech: “Using TEMPTUTM airbrush make-up, you must show your keen sense of proportion by painting realistic clothing on to your model that perfectly compliments her form.”

At that, the snickering dies off. Realistic clothing isn't easy to pull off. And he has no experience with airbrush guns - and judging from the expressions around him, neither have most of the others.

“Your models have been randomly assigned and each of them has a prop that will serve as inspiration for your pin-up”, Dave explains. “You have three hours to create a real-life pin-up that illustrations your creativity and sense of proportion. And your time starts now.”

At his assigned work station, Roger meets a stunning brunette wearing a black and white bonnet and waving a feather duster about. “French Maid,” a sign proclaims in case it hasn’t been clear enough. 

“Hey, I’m Roger,” he says to the model. 

“Monique,” she replies and shakes his offered hand.

“Ah, comment ça va, madame?” 

She shrugs and grins. “I’ve no idea what you just said, but you better watch your tongue, mister.” 

He grins back. “Else you’ll let me have it with the feather duster?”

“A formidable weapon.” She swooshes it through the air to show him. 

“Are you actually going to participate in the challenge or are you just going to stand around sweet-talking to the girls, buddy?” Oliver has walked up to them, a smirk on his face and ever-present toothpick poking out of his mouth. 

“I…” Roger looks between Monique and the airbrush guns, “...haven’t decided yet.” 

“You better. Clock’s ticking.” With a wink, Oliver walks to the next station. 

Roger looks around. Most of the others are already sketching or trying out the guns on pieces of paper. Brianna is on her knees behind her model (who is wearing a lasso and cowboy hat) drawing lines onto her bum and biting her lower lip in utmost concentration. Roger wishes he had his phone so he could snap a picture. But then, they’re surrounded by cameras. With any luck, the image will be recorded for posterity. 

“Alright then,” Roger says. “If you be so kind as to lower your weapon, ma’am, we can get started on this."

~~~

##### Two hours into the flash challenge.

DAVE appears: “One hour to go, ladies and gentlemen, one hour to go!”

FREDDIE comes into view, frantically scrubbing paint off his model. His white outfit is completely ruined. DARROW is standing next to him, a pained look on his face. 

DARROW: “...the pants come down at least to the knees, and you need some sort of padding on the shoulders and thighs.”

> DARROW: “Unbelievable! That kid was acting like he’d never seen a football game before!”

> FREDDIE, exasperated. “It’s not like I’ve even seen an American Football match! How am I supposed to know what their outfits are like?”

Cut to BRIANNA. With painstaking attention to detail, she is finishing a brass button on her model’s cut-offs.

ROGER, yelling from the other side of the room. “Hey Brianna! People usually wear shirts too, you know? Are you trying to get this girl arrested?”

Without taking her eyes off her work, Brianna flips him off.

> BRIANNA: “I’d rather have one finished piece of clothing that looks perfect - every button, every seam, every wrinkle - than just slap a paint of coat on her and call it a day. Like some people.”

> JARED, who has just spent two hours slapping a coat of paint onto his model: “Brianna covered an area that’s like this.” He holds his thumb and forefinger barely an inch apart. “Are you kidding me?”

Cut to ROGER wandering over to DEAKY and tickling his ear with a feather duster, making him drop his air brush gun.

Cut to DEAKY threatening ROGER’s finished piece with a can of bright blue paint. MONIQUE is enjoying herself immensely. 

Close-up on DAVE. “Alright, artists, this is it, time’s up. No more painting! ”

### Flash Challenge Critique

“This is really one of the nicer designs in the room. It fits her body well, nice detail in the stockings… but is there any particular reason she’s got a robot arm?” Chris Nuñez is looking at Roger with an unimpressed expression. 

“Comes in handy for dusting the chandeliers and stuff,” Roger explains. “It’s extendable, see.” 

“I think that time you spent on that arm would have been better used on the texture of the lace trimmings.”

Once the focus is on the next contestant, Roger pulls a face. “He’s such a killjoy,” he whispers at Brianna. 

“Your lacework could have been cleaner,” she replies. 

“Oh fuck off.” Of course she’s on their side. They had praised her tiny cut-offs to high heaven. 

The judges are less than complimentary about Deaky’s painter (“it’s a little cartoony, a bit overwrought”) and Freddie’s footballer (“looks really unfinished and like there hasn’t been a proper plan behind the design”). 

Roger feels a tiny bit of pity for Freddie. He had the worst possible draw of the lot. But still, he can’t help thinking. If he’s so much better than everyone else, he should have killed it regardless. 

His musings on Freddie are thankfully interrupted by the announcement of the winner of the flash challenge. It’s been clear from the critique that it wasn’t going to be him, but he’d had hopes for Brianna. Instead, the win goes to Jared’s firefighter, who to Roger looks like a walking wall of orange. 

“I can’t believe it,” Brianna moans. 

“Should have given her a shirt,” Deaky comments and barely steps out of the way in time to avoid her heel coming down on his foot. 

~~~

“So, what do you think of your teammates so far, Rog?”

Roger blinks blearily into his coffee. He’s been up since six and really hoped he could get a moment to himself, a smoke and a relaxing spotify playlist on the roof deck perhaps, before they get on to the elimination tattoo. But apparently they really need to do this interview with him right now, and he has signed away all rights to refuse with that 50-page contract.

He shrugs. “They’re alright.” Deaky had been a bit hard to read at first, but had really come out of his shell once it had only been the three of them. 

“Did you know them before you came here?” The producer, Bret, a perpetually ruffled guy in his forties, leans forward, hands on his elbows. 

“Me and Brianna worked at the same shop until about two years ago. Then the shop closed up and we ended up on different sides of London, so we kind of lost contact.”

“Did you get along?”

“Yeah, we’re friends. She’s amazing at what she does. Very talented, clever…”

Bret, raises his eyebrows at him. “Hmm. So have you ever been more than friends?”

Roger snorts. “No.” 

Okay, so there had been this one night really late into Tim’s birthday party where they’d both been wasted and made out against a kitchen counter. But he’s not going to tell that to some nosy producer. Also, it had lasted all of a minute and when they parted, Brianna had actually grimaced. No matter how great her legs are, that’s a bigger turn off than a bucket of ice water. 

“How do you mean?” Bret frowns in confusion at his reaction, inviting him to explain.

“She’s just not into…” Roger stops himself just in time. First of all, because he’s not entirely sure himself. Not into men? Not into other tattoo artists? Not into sex? He doesn’t really have a clue. And even if he did, it’s probably not something he should blurt out on international TV. “...me,” he ends a bit lamely, trying to paper over the hesitation with a sheepish smile. 

Bret waits another second for Roger to go on, then makes a note. Roger doesn’t have a good feeling about this. “Any sort of... difficult emotions about this?”

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“Some lingering rivalry perhaps?”

This is getting a bit annoying. “No,” he replies a bit sharply. 

“Alright." Bret gives him a guileless smile and easily switches tracks. "So, what about the others?” 

“I didn’t really know Deaky before. I think I might have seen him around a convention or two? But he seems solid. Quick, great at coming up with designs.”

“Do you think he’ll be a threat to you?”

Roger shrugs. “Everyone’s a threat. But he lacks experience. And I have no idea how he’s going to deal with the pressure.”

“And Freddie?”

Roger purses his lips. Damn, he wants a smoke. “No comment.”

“No comment?” 

“He doesn’t consider himself part of the team.” Roger empties his coffee cup and puts it away. “So I don’t consider him part of mine. Are we done?”

~~~

This time when they’re led back to the tattoo studio, the large, cavernous hall has been transformed: all along the outer walls, sections have been partitioned off, forming fifteen small rooms that all open to the centre. 

Roger runs up to the compartment bearing his name and his mouth falls open. “Bloody hell,” he breathes as he takes in the view. It’s small, but fully equipped with everything a tattoo studio needs: an adjustable tattooing chair, workstations carrying his machines and inks, shelves with reference books and cleaning supplies. But the best thing is the walls themselves. Painted a deep red, they’re decorated with prints of his own artwork, his favourite designs proudly displayed. 

It’s only temporary, but as he’s standing inside of it, for the very first time he gets a taste of what it might feel like to have his very own shop. The very reason he’s doing all this in the first place. 

He doesn’t have much time to revel in that though. The next part of the challenge is up - a six hour tattoo of a pin-up. 

They had already met their clients back at the studio where the flash challenge had been held. Each of them wanted one of the pin-up designs tattooed and Jared, as winner of the challenge, had the privilege of matching clients and artists. Then they’d consulted with the clients and created a reference drawing that they would use for the tattoo. 

Roger had got lucky. The ‘sexy teacher’-design he is supposed to tattoo isn't too complicated and his client seems easy enough to work with. Which can’t be said for everyone.

### Elimination Tattoo

MISSTEE is showing her client - a big heavy-set man in his fifties - her stencil for the pirate pin-up she’s going to do on him. 

PIRATE CLIENT: “She’s cute, but why’s there a cutlass covering her tits?”

MISSTEE: “It’s not covering all of it. Look, there’s still...”

PIRATE CLIENT: “Why would you cover her tits with a cutlass? It’s a pin-up!”

MISSTEE, nervously looking at the ticking clock: “Are you sure this isn’t going to work for you? Because otherwise I’d have to…”

PIRATE CLIENT, speaking slowly and carefully: “There’s a cutlass covering her tits!”

MISSTEE: “Fine. Fine, I’ll redraw it.” Runs off to the drawing board, swearing under her breath. 

PIRATE CLIENT, turning towards the camera and shaking his head in exasperation: “She wanted to cover her tits with a *bleeping* cutlass!”

> MISSTEE: “This *bleep* should be grateful _I_ didn’t have a cutlass! For *bleep’s* sake!

~~~

“Everything alright?” Roger sits back and puts the machine back on its stand, shaking out his hand. His client is sitting like a rock, but a six-hour tattoo on the shin in a lot to take. 

“I hope so,” she replies, arching one eyebrow at him. “Wouldn’t want to end up with a jacked tattoo.”

Roger takes a look at his work. She’s not the youngest and doesn’t have the easiest skin to work with, but it’s turning out great. With an hour to go, he might even have time to put in some background.

“Hey Rog, got a minute?” Deaky is sticking his head into the shop. 

“Not really.” This time, he doesn’t want to give the judges any opening to accuse him of squandering his time. Although he did contemplate giving the teacher a robot leg, just to spite them. 

“Trust me, you’ll want to see this.” 

Deaky’s face doesn’t give anything away, but there’s something in his voice that makes Roger think it might not be a bad idea to stretch his legs for a minute. He tells his client he’ll be right back and follows Deaky towards a shop on the other side of the room. Mark, one of the Canadians, who is basically a walking oversized hoodie with a nose peaking out, is tattooing a pin-up based on a farmer’s girl, sitting in the grass. 

“Hey,” he drawls as they come near. “‘Sup, man?”

Deaky doesn’t make any move to answer, so Roger replies, “Just having a look around. Going well?”

“Yup.”

When Mark wipes excess ink from the tat, Roger takes a closer look. And then another one. 

“Lookin’ tight, eh,” Mark asks. 

“Badass,” Roger chokes out before grabbing Deaky’s arm and hightailing out of there. “What the actual fuck,” he wheezes once they’re out of earshot. 

Deaky just cackles in response. 

“You saw it too, right?” 

“Course I saw it too!”

“Unbelievable.” That guy put two left feet on her. Somehow, while drawing his reference from an actual human being right in front of him, this complete tool managed to give her two left feet. 

When he can breathe again, Roger heads back to his shop and picks up his machine with renewed verve. Whatever nitpicks the judges might have about his tattoo, at least he can be sure he's not going home today.

### Tattoo Critique

The tattoo critique that day is brutal. The two left feet get lambasted extensively, but to Roger’s surprise, there are a couple of tats that are screwed up even worse than that. He wants to weep when his [French maid](https://i.ibb.co/dgP3dgp/french-maid.jpg) design is shown on the screen - beautiful Monique is posed in such a horribly unflattering manner that all Roger can think of is a silverback with a bonnet. 

"Let me be honest,” Dave says, dead serious. “This is one of the only French maid pin-ups where actually all I would like her to do is clean the house.”

“How can you fuck this up so badly?” Roger whispers to Brianna. “Jared is going home. He’s got to be.”

“Hmm, I don't know," she replies. "Have you seen Tom’s Hula girl yet?” When he shakes his head, a smirk appears on her face. “Wait for it.”

When the [Hula girl](https://i.ibb.co/6vQts6C/hula.jpg) \- flowers in her hair, Ukulele in hand - appears on the screen, Chris Nuñez looks like he’s got the worst toothache of his life. “You have done such beautiful, detailed work on the flowers. Why haven’t you done the same for her face?” he asks, exasperated. “It looks like she halfway through morphing into a lioness.”

Tom shakes his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “The canvas kept twitching and moving. It was hard to get a straight line in there.”

Dave is shaking his head. “I just can’t get over her face. I think it’s… just that hair and the… moustache…?”

“It’s a drop shadow!”

Behind him, Roger can hear John’s muffled snickers. 

Team UK isn’t exactly getting praised for their work, but they get through it without major bruising. Roger’s [sexy teacher](https://i.ibb.co/JtvMZMJ/teacher.jpg) is described as “beautiful from the waist up” (as if there’s anything wrong with her legs, which there isn’t!) and there’s a bit of back-and-forth over whether the mouth on John’s [beach girl](https://i.ibb.co/swrmvN1/beach-girl.jpg) is busted or perfectly acceptable for an anime-style pin-up. 

Then Brianna’s [sexy baker](https://i.ibb.co/fYBMvZm/brians-baker.jpg) comes up. 

“Holy mackerel”, Dorito whispers so loudly the whole room can hear him. 

“The pie being held like that,” Dave starts, for some reason talking about the one thing no one is looking at. “That looks a little off.”

“Yeah,” Oliver chimes in. “The pie bugs me, because you’re not gonna hold a pie upright in its tin like that.”

“Honestly, I don’t care about the pie ‘cause I can’t stop looking at that ass.” Finally, Chris spells out what everyone in the room has been thinking. 

“It’s not exactly proportional, though,” Dave adds.

Brianna crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It’s an artistic choice,” she replies. “All pin-ups are to some degree exaggerated.”

When Roger turns around, he finds Deaky biting his lips, eyes squeezed shut. He looks like he’s an extra in a Monty Python film who’s been instructed not to laugh.

Freddie is up next. His [sexy witch](https://i.ibb.co/Q6qtbsF/Witch.jpg) is not too bad, Roger supposes. Not exactly winning material either though. “So that’s all our art-school boy can come up with,” Roger whispers at Brianna and John. “The face is alright, I suppose, but there’s almost no detail in the hair.”

“And look her left sleeve,” Brianna points out. “Barely finished.”

“It looks like he didn’t even give a shit.”

Which is exactly the verdict of the jury. 

~~~

“That bloody firefighter,” Roger groans as they head back up to the loft where they are supposed to wait for the judges' decision on who would be sent home. “Again!” She didn’t even look much like a fire-fighter. She was just a hot chick in lingerie who happened to carry an axe!

“Team Canada is kicking our arses,” Deaky muses.

It’s true. The judges have given Alex, who always sticks out among their scruffy colleagues with their braces and bow ties, the win for a simple but effective black-and-grey design. It’s the second time a tattoo of the day has been awarded, and it’s the second time that it’s gone to Canada. Not that it should matter, this isn’t a team competition after all, but it would be fun to win something for once.

“Of course, they don’t have any back-stabbing twits on their team to deal with,” Roger grumbles. 

“Speaking of that,” Deaky says, a little hesitantly. 

“Yeah?”

Deaky slows his steps, and Roger follows suit, so that they fall behind the rest of the group. “Can’t you try to get along with him?”

“Me?” Roger stops in his tracks. “Trying to get along with _him_? You think _I’m_ the problem here?”

Deaky rolls his eyes. “Alright, so he said something stupid in an interview. Isn’t it enough that we all sulked for two days?” 

“Something stupid? He called me a fucking scratcher, as if I were some back-street hack! And that after we’d been talking all day! I thought we…” For some reason, Roger finds it hard to spell it out, his throat tightening up. “I thought we were becoming friends!”

“That interview was done the night before, though. Are you telling me you only had kind words for him during that first interview?”

Roger shifts uncomfortably. _Fucking diva… never even heard of this dude… so done with him._ “That was right after the challenge. I was rattled. He got under my skin.” 

“And the interviewer invited you to spill your guts, right? They’re good at that!”

Roger thinks back to how he almost outed Brianna today. They make it so easy to talk, to vent all the thoughts and feelings and frustrations that have built up during the day. To make you think they’re a friend in all this madness around you.

Deaky makes a good point. It’s fair. It’s sensible. Roger doesn’t want to be fair and sensible. “I called him a diva because he bloody well is. I didn’t insult his art work.” 

“Rog, why do you think this producer showed us the interview.”

Roger opens his mouth, then closes it again when he realises he never even thought about that. Although now that he does, the answer is obvious. Drama. “Bloody reality TV,” he sighs. It’s _all_ about the drama. He’s a bit embarrassed now that he realises how easy it was for them to get to him. 

“If things go well, we’re going to be living together for the next couple of weeks. I really don’t want my roommates to be at each other’s throat all the time. Doesn’t make for good tattooing headspace.”

“Yeah, I know.” Roger rubs a hand over his face. It’s not that he ever shies away from an argument, but he doesn’t usually carry grudges. Especially not about something as stupid as this. Perhaps he should… not apologise of course, after all he doesn’t have anything to apologise for. But perhaps the next time they get drinks he could casually ask Freddie to join? Make good on that invitation from the first night?

He’s almost made up his mind when they reach the loft. 

Only to find Freddie and Brianna locked in a shouting match, all the other contestants and two camera crews watching them with rapt attention. 

“It’s a proportion challenge,” Freddie yells. “Not sure how proportionate it is to draw a bum the size of Switzerland on a size zero girl.” 

“Oh, come on,” Brianna scoffs. Her eyes land on him and Deaky as they make their way to the couches. “No one said anything about the cup size on Roger’s tattoo.”

Roger holds his arms out to the side. He hasn’t even done anything, but of course, he gets drawn into whatever this is about. “It’s a decent handful,” he says, trying to lighten up the mood a bit. 

Brianna glares at him. “The poor girl would have to carry a backpack every day just to keep her balance.”

“The thing is,” Freddie says, “you think you are this master of realism, but then you make your pin-up hold the pie in a way no one ever holds a pie, just so you can show off more of her arse. Where’s the integrity in that?”

“It’s what the client wanted”, Brianna grits out from behind clenched teeth. “Did your client want a half-finished tramp with bull’s horns?” 

A murmur punctured by low whistles goes through the crowd of artists. Shots fired. 

“At least I didn’t have to write ‘witch’ on her arm just so we know what she’s supposed to be”, Freddie shoots back.

“No, you didn’t. You just slapped some half-finished sleeves on her because you were running out of time.”

“Better than half-arsing the face.”

“Do you really think your face compares to mine? Really?” 

It’s probably useless at this point, but Roger still tries to intervene. “Guys, can’t we just…”

The door to the loft bangs open. A hush falls over the room as Oliver appears to announce which artists are in the bottom and at risk for elimination. Although his own tattoo hadn’t received too bad a critique, Roger still feels his stomach clench in apprehension. What if Nuñez has it in for him because of that robot arm?

“Alright everyone,” he says. “The judges want to see Tom, Mark, Jared… and Freddie. See y’all downstairs.”

Freddie sits completely still for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe it. Roger can’t either. There have been problems with Freddie’s tattoo, but it wasn’t anywhere near the level of the others. 

If someone had asked him just half an hour ago what he’d feel at the prospect of Freddie being sent home, had have shrugged and said good riddance. But now… There is a trace of real panic in Freddie's eyes and it’s obvious that he’s struggling for composure in the way he’s pressing his lips together. Whatever it is that made the judges single him out from all the other middle-of-the-road tattoos, at least he didn’t put in two left feet, for fuck’s sake. 

As the four marked men shuffle out the door to follow Oliver downstairs, Roger sits down next to Brianna. “Wow,” he says. 

“Do you really think they’ll send him home?” Deaky asks, leaning against a wall. 

“I hope not,” Bri says to Roger’s surprise. “What,” she asks when he sees his expression. “The guy’s a prick, but if he goes home over that hideous thing Tom produced, I’m quitting.”

Roger can’t help but smile. Artistic integrity over everything else. 

Waiting for the three who wouldn’t be eliminated to return is tense. Every country has someone on the line, and the US team, who have already lost one member (although they didn’t seem too sad to see CJ gone) are particularly nervous. There’s some bickering over whether a busted face is worse than anatomical problems, but for the most part, they all sit in tense silence. 

Jared from the US-team, who’d done the French maid with the unfortunate pose, comes back first, greeted by the cheers of his teammates. When the next one to return is Mark, everyone exchanges disbelieving glances. Most bets had been on him. 

Do they really think an unfinished sleeve is worse than two left feet?

When the door opens for the last time and Freddie appears in the room, pale and obviously shaken, Roger can’t hold back his sigh of relief. “Freddie,” he says amid the groans of disappointment from the Australians. 

“Didn’t get rid of me yet.” Freddie's voice is harsh as if he’s determined not to let it break. 

What the fuck happened down there? “No,” Roger says. “Listen, do you want to-”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to disrupt your cosy little party.” He turns and makes for the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. 

“Damn it.” Roger waits exactly two seconds before he goes after him. “Freddie, wait,” he calls out just as the other man has pulled open the door to their shared room.

Freddie turns around in the open door. His expression could turn boiling water to ice in seconds. “What?” he hisses. He’s puffed up his chest, pulled back his shoulders and somehow manages to look down his nose on him, although he’s no taller than Roger even in his heels. 

_...generic copy/paste designs... no real artistry... street-shop scratchers like him are ten-for-a-penny, darling…_

The invitation to join them dies on Roger's tongue. “Congrats on staying,” he grits out. It’s the best he can do. 

Freddie’s mouth twists. “Spare me your condescension,” he hisses, then steps into the room. 

His tone alone is enough to make Roger’s temper flare up. “ _My_ condescension?” The nerve this guy has. 

“Try not to make a ruckus when you come to bed, will you,” is the last thing he hears before the door is slammed in his face. 

He paces the hallway a couple of minutes, torn between kicking the door down and show this prat a fucking ruckus and finding the next available camera team to list every single thing that’s wrong with every tattoo Freddie has ever made. 

In the end, he does neither. He just returns to the lounge, where Bri and Deaky and talking in a low voice. 

Brianna looks up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “What was that all about?” 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He looks between Bri and Deaky. “Anyone in the mood for some Jack Daniels?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tattoos are from different episodes and seasons, but mainly based on [S05E02](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sj8Wi3yEpCE) (if you want to get a taste of the show, go watch it. It's hilarious).
> 
> Here are Freddie's, Brian's, Roger's and Deaky's tattoos, in that order:   
> 


End file.
